The Shadow Over Weselton
by SixGoldenCoins
Summary: With no options left, the Duke of Weselton resorts to trading with something in the waters around his country. But he will learn that there are things no human should associate with. Sequel to the fic "The Horror In The Southern Isles".
1. Chapter 1

A medium-sized, horse-drawn carriage made its way across the sandy path, and descended down it. Looking down the hill, one would be able to see the beach, and the ocean beyond, its waves cresting and breaking against the shore.

The carriage came to a stop about thirty feet from the water. If there were witnesses around, they would see the Duke of Weselton step out the back of the carriage, his face obscured by a cloak. He was carrying another man over his shoulder, unconscious, gagged, and bound.

As the Duke struggled to carry the larger man over to the water, he stopped for a moment to speak with the carriage driver.

"Turn it around and face the other way. If you try to leave without me, I'll see to it that you go to the gallows. Do you understand?"

"Perfectly, your Grace."

The driver moved the reins to the side, and the horse obeyed, walking in a semi-circle and turning the carriage to the opposite direction. The Duke grunted as he continued towards the ocean, hauling the still-unconscious man with him.

The driver sat still, facing away from the beach and listening to the faint sounds of the waves. He heard the Duke take a few steps into the water, and then, a larger _splash_ as something emerged from the sea.

The Duke began to mutter in conversation with someone. But as far as the driver knew, there was no one else around. He couldn't make out any words that were being spoken, but he heard low, grunting replies from whoever the Duke was talking to. Another _splash_ was heard, then quiet footsteps heading back towards the carriage.

The Duke had returned, but he was no longer carrying his human burden. Instead, he was holding eight or nine pieces of what looked like gold. He climbed into the back of the carriage once more.

"Let's go," he said.

The driver snapped the reins, rousing the horse from its short nap as it began to trot back towards town.

* * *

The marketplace in Weselton had dwindled quite a bit ever since Arendelle had cut off all trade with them. Where there were once dozens upon dozens of merchants that could be found selling their wares, there was now merely a handful. As it turned out, Arendelle was the only remaining trade partner with Weselton, and after the Duke's foolish actions against Queen Elsa, all ties between them were severed, and the small nation began to suffer great economic hardship.

As the citizens mingled about and checked out the few booths and vendors, they all heard the clanging of a small bell. People looked in the direction of the town square, and they saw the official town crier waving his bell about, shouting as he made the day's latest royal decree.

"Hear ye, hear ye! All citizens of Weselton, hear ye!"

Now, all eyes were on the man as he read from his scroll.

"As decreed by His Grace the Duke of Weselton, henceforth all food will be rationed by an additional five percent. Additionally, water rations will now only be distributed on Tuesdays and Saturdays."

A few quiet groans could be heard from the people in response to the bad news; they already had barely enough to eat, and as Weselton was surrounded by ocean, freshwater was scarce.

A rotund man from the crowd, who had had quite enough of the Duke's silly decrees, spoke up, his face red with anger.

"Oi, crier bloke! Why don't you tell the Duke that if he wants us all to starve, he can go f-"

Three guards came out of nowhere. They tackled him to the ground, and began to beat him with their clubs. It took them four blows to render the man unconscious, and another eighteen to actually kill him.

The rest of the citizens went about their business. Most of them had adjusted to Weselton's new draconian laws.

* * *

The Duke sat in the study of his luxurious villa, absentmindedly sipping at some brandy. He surveyed the gold that sat on the table before him, looking intently at the unusual carvings that were etched into each piece. Last time, he had gotten ten of the trinkets, but this time, he had only received eight.

Since nobody wanted to trade with them anymore, this gold was the only thing keeping Weselton's economy afloat. The Duke had to head down to the beach at night to collect it, then sell it off to unscrupulous Southern Isles merchants in return for goods, which were then rationed and distributed to citizens.

Despite the reduced amount, he was still going to have the usual two pieces stored away in his personal vault. The rest of Weselton would just have to make do with their reduced supplies. The Duke had _himself_ to think about, after all.

Opening the drawer to his desk, he removed a piece of paper and pen, then scribbled out a quick note.

_Edwin,_

_Get the men together. The high priest has called another meeting for tonight, in the forest. Don't forget the candles this time._

The Duke tucked it into an envelope, then took the little bell that sat at his side and gave it a ring. After about thirty seconds, a voice was heard at the door.

"Your Grace?"

It was his butler's voice.

"Come in."

The servant opened the door, and when he saw the Duke's outstretched hand, he headed over to him and took the letter.

"I need that delivered to Edwin, at once."

"Another..._meeting_? So soon?"

"That is correct. Now hop to it."

The butler obeyed, quickly leaving the room in search for Edwin.

The Duke sat back in his chair, removed his round spectacles and breathed deeply through his nose. He looked to his right, at the window. Past the paned glass, he could see the sloping hills that led down to the beach, and then the sea.

The waves were unusually large today.

* * *

The twelve robed men stood in a circle around their unconscious sacrifice, the black candles dimly lighting up the immediate area. They stood in the middle of the woods, a perfect place to conduct a ritual.

As the high priest drew out the long, ceremonial dagger from the folds of his cloak, they all began to collectively chant.

_"I'a Dagon! I'a Hydra! I'a Dagon! I'a Hydra!"_

The priest plunged the dagger through the man's chest and into his heart.

_"I'a Cthulhu fhtagn!"_

None of the people there knew the man personally. Even if they had, it was unlikely any of them would have felt even the slightest amount of guilt. He was just another peasant, a commoner.

"_I'a Dagon! I'a Hydra! I'a Cthulhu fhtagn!"_

The unforunate victim's blood seeped out and formed a pool around him. Eleven of the cloaked members knelt down and started to drink up the red liquid off the ground, making slurping noises.

As he watched, the Duke of Weselton threw back the hood of his own ceremonial robe to get a better look. The abnormally long tongues of the other cultists moved about, lapping up the man's blood. When the ritual was all finished, they stood up, and the high priest looked over at the Duke.

"Good work, Allen. Your supply of fresh sacrifices has been invaluable to the Order."

The only time the Duke of Weselton allowed someone to address him by his first name, Allen, was when they were his superior. Of course, he had no superiors as far as the citizens knew, as they lived in a grand duchy. But the Weselton branch of the Esoteric Order of Dagon was not known to anyone other than the few nobles and their trusted servants that made up its members.

"Anything to serve our cause, my Lord," the Duke said, bowing to the high priest.

"Soon the transformation will be complete, and our allies will restore Weselton to prosperity."

The cultists began to disband, each going their own separate way through the woods, leaving just the Duke and the priest.

The high priest spoke in a lower tone as he cast off his hood.

"I trust you will...dispose of the body, like you have with the others."

The Duke's heartbeat began to quicken, and despite the summer, he felt cold. He still wasn't used to seeing the priest's full face.

"Y-yes, of course my Lord."

"Very well then. Until next time."

He raised the hood once more, and turned away.

The Duke watched him walk off and tried to ignore his long, not-quite-human strides. In fact, the Duke always tried to ignore the high priest's features, like the webbing that had begun to spread through his fingers, or the scales that were on his face, or the gills that had formed on his neck, or his eyes that had begun to turn black.

The Duke was now standing there on his own, in the middle of the woods, with a corpse. He picked up the nearby shovel and began to dig a hole, as he wondered how much longer he could keep this up.


	2. Chapter 2

The man's name was Jonas. He was 54 years old, a fisherman by trade. Or at least, he had been; ever since Weselton's fish began to mysteriously die off, he and all the other fishermen had been out of a job.

But after what he had seen the previous night, Jonas was afraid, more than he had ever been before in his life. The night before, he had the misfortune of finding out what had happened to all of Weselton's missing people, and how the Duke spent his evenings. At first, Jonas considered telling everyone what was going on, but he knew that no one would believe him, and he would probably be executed anyway.

In the end, he decided that his best choice was to simply leave Weselton altogether. And that was exactly what he was about to do.

Jonas untied the rope that tethered his smallish boat to the dock, then started to work on raising the sail. Once it had been properly set up, he was on his way, letting the wind carry his vessel northeast.

If he could just make it to Arendelle, perhaps he could be granted asylum once he told them what was going on. He was sure Queen Elsa would believe him, she already knew firsthand about the Duke's cowardice and greed.

Jonas stood at the ship's wheel, steering every now and then. His musket sat nearby; he was going to need it, if that _thing _he saw the Duke talking to decided to show its face on his boat.

He took a moment to look up at the night sky. It was a clear night, with the stars twinkling overhead and the crescent moon casting its light over the water. Under better circumstances, it would have been a nice, peaceful night for him.

Jonas heard sudden splashing, coming from the stern. He looked back, but didn't see anything. Still, he had to be sure he was just hearing things. Dropping anchor, he picked up the musket and inched over to the stern. He hesitated, unsure whether or not he wanted to see what might be down there.

Taking a deep breath for courage, Jonas raised his musket and quickly peered over the edge of the boat.

There was nothing there except water.

He breathed a sigh of relief, lowering his gun. It must have just been a small, rogue wave that caused that unusual splashing sound, as it hit against the boat.

Jonas turned around and saw the thing standing only a few feet away. He didn't have any time to raise his weapon as the slimy, webbed hand grabbed him.

He didn't even have time to scream.

* * *

The Duke of Weselton may have been of short stature, but he could still easily command respect from his subjects. At least, that's the way he viewed it. What he inspired in his citizens was more like fear, not respect. And that fear could be plainly seen in the peasant's eyes, as he looked up at the Duke.

The Duke of Weselton sat on his throne, and regarded the commoner with narrowed eyes.

"Why did you dare to steal from my gardens, citizen? You know that theft is a capital offense."

"I-I had no choice, your Grace! I am very poor, and my family, th-they're starving!"

The man's voice was shaking, his face flushed. He looked as though he was going to start crying any second.

"I, the Duke of Weselton, hereby charge you with theft of royal property, and sentence you to death by hanging," the Duke said. He motioned to the two guards holding the man.

The peasant burst into tears.

"_No, mercy! Mercy! Pl-please, your Grace!_"

But the Duke of Weselton wasn't listening; he had more important thoughts on his mind, like how he was going to increase the amount of gold he could get from his "trading partners".

The peasant's pleas faded away as the guards dragged him from the throne room and to the dungeon, where he would wait for execution the next day.

Execution, without a jury or trial. That was the way the Duke ran things in Weselton, and it had worked out well for him so far.

* * *

Just like last time, the carriage sat at the top of the hill, facing away from the shore as the Duke carried another person down to the water.

The Duke's burden was a bit lighter, as he was carrying a woman this time. She was slim and petite, nowhere near as heavy as the man he carried last time.

That was the arrangement that the Duke had worked out with the thing from the sea; he would alternate between male and female offers to it. One night he would offer the thing a man, and the next, a woman. Although he was curious, the Duke never asked the thing why it needed both men and women from Weselton. He knew better than to do something like that.

The Duke's nostrils were assaulted with the stench of rotting fish, as his trading partner emerged from the sea. Under the darkness of night, he could only make out a few of its features: it was around 6-and-a-half feet tall; it had scales, gills, and long, fanged teeth. It made ragged sounds as it inhaled and exhaled, as though it wasn't used to breathing on land.

"I've brought the usual offering, like you've asked," said the Duke, holding the woman out in his arms.

The creature took the unconscious woman from him, holding her over its shoulder with its right hand. With a deep, harsh reply, the thing spoke.

"_Almost let one get away._"

It extended its left hand out of the water. It was holding the disembodied head of Jonas, the ill-fated fisherman who had failed to escape Weselton. The Duke jumped a little when he saw it. Judging from the neck stump, it looked as though it had been torn right off the body.

"_Not supposed to let any get away. Less gold now._"

It then raised one of its feet out of the water, and clutched in between its webbed, prehensile toes were just six pieces of gold. It tossed them at the Duke, who managed to catch four of them, the other two tumbling from his arms and back into the ocean. He knelt down, groping about in the shallow water as he desperately tried to retrieve the lost valuables.

"Only...only six pieces? I thought we...had a deal!" said the Duke, breathing a bit heavily.

"_Bring younger ones next time._"

"But...which? A man or a woman? What do I...need to give you for more gold?"

"_Little boy and girl._"

The Duke paused for a moment.

He had never had to sacrifice children to them before. Would he be able to do it?

"_Thirty pieces, little boy and little girl._"

Thirty pieces of their gold was the highest amount the thing had ever offered him.

"All...all right, I'll do it."

The sea being turned away and walked a few feet further into the water, before it submerged itself completely, carrying its unconscious victim and the bloody remains of Jonas with it.

The Duke's left hand closed around something hard, and as he lifted it out of the water, he saw that it was one of the gold pieces he had dropped. Four pieces caught, and one retrieved; there was still one missing, but it was nowhere to be found. He felt disappointed at the low amount of wealth he was walking away with tonight, but at the same time, he felt excited at the higher amount that was sure to soon follow.

He began to head back up the hill to the driver and the carriage, and thought about how he might obtain what the creature wanted. And he remembered that there was a couple in the village who had just had twins: a boy and a girl.

A smile played across the Duke's face. Soon he would be richer than ever.

The Order would be pleased.


	3. Chapter 3

Deep in the woods of Weselton, another meeting of the Esoteric Order of Dagon was taking place. The Duke stood in a circle with the other cultists, all of them once again dressed in their ceremonial robes.

Bowing to the high priest, the Duke of Weselton was jubilant.

"My Lord, you will be very pleased to know that our country will soon be getting far more gold from our trading partner than we have ever previously received."

"Why would more riches matter, if our plans are exposed?"

"...what?" the Duke said, confused.

"Our allies have informed me that you nearly let a random fisherman escape Weselton, and that they had to take him out themselves."

His pulse quickened when he heard this. He had hoped the Order wouldn't find out about Jonas.

"I-I'm sorry! I didn't mean to-"

"He was headed northeast, very likely to Arendelle. Do you know what would happen to you, to me, to our Order, if Queen Elsa knew what was going on here? Our entire vision, all of our efforts, was almost compromised last night due to your own negligence."

The Duke felt anger well up within him. He pointed a finger at the high priest.

"Now wait just a moment! There is absolutely no way I could have known that one man would try and escape our land, and it is unfair of you to think that I could possibly watch every single citizen in _all of bloody Weselton_!"

The high priest was silent, as he slowly reached his aquatic-looking hands up to his hood and removed it. He looked at the Duke, and without breaking eye contact, he walked up to him and stared down at him.

The Duke's indignation melted away, replaced instead with fear. He began to shake as he looked up at his Lord's face; it looked even more bestial than the last time he had seen him. He peered into those cold, black eyes, anxious and unsure of what would happen next.

Suddenly, the high priest's arm shot out, his aquatic hand closing around the Duke's neck as he easily lifted him high off the ground. He struggled under the cult leader's powerful grasp, his short legs kicking about, his hands grasping at the long arm that held him.

The Duke's vision grew fuzzy as his brain began to get cut off from oxygen. With a desperate sputter, he managed to force a few words out of his throat.

"_M-m-my L-L-Lord, pl-please_..."

The high priest threw his subordinate, releasing his grip on him in the process. The Duke yelped as his body slammed against a tree. He lay prone for a moment, before he tried to collect himself and unsteadily rose to his feet.

As soon as the Duke was standing up proper, the priest struck him, his sharp nails raking across his face and drawing blood. The Duke gave a cry of pain as he clutched at his wound with both hands.

The high priest grabbed him by the hair on the back of his head and moved his face close to him. His voice lowered as he spoke, in a venomous, hissing tone.

"Your incompetence disgusts me, Allen. You would do well to remember who it was that ensured you would become Duke, and who it was that helped make Weselton into a grand duchy in the first place. You _will_ ensure that no one will _ever_ be able to leave this country again. _If you do not, you will sorely regret it. Have I made myself clear?_"

"Y-yes! Please, just...just don't hurt me anymore!"

The head of the Esoteric Order of Dagon pushed the Duke back to the ground, then turned and began to move out of the forest, his small congregation following his lead.

For a full ten minutes, the Duke of Weselton didn't move from where he was. Instead, he lay in a fetal position, quietly sobbing to himself, tears of pain and humiliation streaming from his eyes.

* * *

"Hear ye, hear ye! All citizens of Weselton, hear ye!"

The town crier was back in the marketplace, clanging his bell for everyone to hear. The citizens gathered around him, in grim anticipation of the new royal decree from the Duke that they would all have to suffer through.

Opening the scroll, the crier began to read.

"As decreed by His Grace the Duke of Weselton, henceforth all privately owned seafaring vessels, merchant, leisure, or otherwise, are to become the property of the Duke."

Some of the townspeople exchanged looks; some were worried, some were confused. It _was_ an unusual decree, and nobody could figure out the purpose behind it. Had the Duke gone crazy? Why could he possibly want to own everyone's boats? There was barely any use for them; the nation didn't trade goods anymore, and most of the fish in the surrounding waters had either died or left. Why even bother confiscating boats that were effectively worthless?

A few citizens, who did happen to own ships, were angry over the news. But they all knew better than to speak a single word of protest, after what had happened to the last man that tried.

* * *

The two men's manner of dress resembled modified outfits of the standard Weselton soldier's uniform; they wore red overcoats with gold trim, to signify they were the Duke's elite guard. They both looked rather dapper.

To citizens, soldiers of lower rank, and the Duke himself, the guards were known simply as Moses and Elijah. It wasn't their true names, of course, but they never gave out that information, even to each other.

Aside from their clothing, it was easy to tell the men apart; Elijah was clean-shaven and fairly slender, while his partner, Moses, was taller, more built, and had a mustache with mutton chops, as well as darker hair.

Compared to assignments that they had to carry out in the past, this was a very easy day for them. Instead of almost getting killed by a cryomancer queen, all they had to do today was supervise the guards underneath them, and ensure every civilian ship was destroyed.

Moses and Elijah stood at the docks, watching the scene unfold; all of the ships from the people of Weselton had been gathered together in the harbor. Groups of soldiers were on board each vessel, splashing buckets of kerosene all over them. When each boat had been thoroughly covered in the heating fuel, they disembarked off of the ships and into smaller dories. After rowing a safe distance away, torches were then lit and thrown onto the vessels. The kerosene ignited instantly, engulfing each ship in flames. Their wooden bodies were easily overtaken by the inferno, and within minutes, there was nothing left of the civilians' property but blackened bits of debris that floated on the water's surface.

"All right men, bring it in!" said Elijah. The soldiers began to row back to the docks, as he turned to his partner.

"Unusual command from the Duke, wouldn't you say?"

"Very. But still, Duke's orders. What he says, goes," replied Moses.

"I would like to know what he hoped to gain from all this."

"We'll never know, Elijah. It is probably best not to pry into things not meant for us."

"Yes, I suppose. But it _did_ just occur to me: all the citizens are trapped here now. The only seaworthy vessels left are the few battleships in our fleet. If some disaster were to happen...most of the people would probably die here. They'd never make it out."

"Perhaps. But, as always, we must trust in our Duke's judgement."

The soldiers were now back on land, securing their dories to the docks. Elijah looked out at the water, and quietly sighed as he viewed the burnt remains of what had once been capable sailing ships.

What was going on in the Duke's mind?

* * *

The Duke of Weselton headed down to the water, carrying a cloth sack. Like last time, the burden was light. He walked into the water until it came up a bit past his knees, and as he awaited his usual visitor, he gingerly reached up to left side of his face, feeling the deep scratches his Lord had inflicted on him, and the numerous stitches that kept the wounds sealed shut.

Soon enough, the creature emerged from the waves. Silhouetted by the full moon, it extended its hand, skipping any formalities.

"_Give._"

The Duke obeyed, eagerly awaiting his substantial reward. He handed over the sack, and as the thing snatched it from him, it held out its other hand.

There, lying in its palm, was more gold than the Duke had ever seen at one time. He greedily took it all from the creature's large paw, gathering it up in his arms.

The thing opened the sack and looked down it. It reached a scaly arm into it, and drew out its contents: baby twins, a boy and a girl. They were both small enough to fit into its rather sizable hand.

"Do you like it? Pretty hard to get those two, almost woke up the parents up and everything! They're going to have a nasty surprise when they wake up tomorrow, eh? Heh heh...heh..."

The creature regarded the Duke with cold eyes; it didn't appear to care about the Duke's efforts, or his failed attempt at dark humor. As it turned to leave, both of the small children suddenly woke up; the Duke must not have drugged his victims well enough this time.

The babies both began to give shrill cries, crying for their mother, their father. But neither of their parents would be around to save them, as the thing closed its hand around them and dove into the water.

In spite of all the horrid acts he had already committed, the Duke couldn't help but feel a slight pang of guilt over what had just happened. He had just sacrificed small children, in pursuit of riches.

But as he looked down at the many shining metal pieces in his arms, any remorse he felt quickly faded. He turned around and hurried back up the hill to the carriage.

As the Duke climbed into the back, the driver turned and spoke to him.

"Your Grace..."

"What?"

"I...normally would not ask this, but exactly what...was going on down there? I heard children crying, and...what did you do?"

The Duke narrowed his eyes and lowered his tone.

"Never you mind. Just drive."

"But your Grace, what was making that n-"

His temper flared up. He just wanted to get back to his villa and store his gold away.

"_I SAID DRIVE! NOW!_"

The driver fell silent, slowly turning and settling back into his seat.

With a snap of the reins, they were on their way, leaving the dark ocean behind them.


	4. Chapter 4

Thirty pieces of gold were tossed onto the pile that had accumulated over the past year. Altogether, there were now almost 600 pieces. Rubbing his hands together in glee, the Duke of Weselton stood back and admired his collection. He didn't spend too long gloating over his riches, though; as the sunlight from outside shone through the windows and into his vault, it reflected off of the precious metals, casting eerie patterns over the walls. The Duke felt a sense of foreshadowing, as though the gold itself was trying to remind him of something. He didn't like the feeling.

The Duke stepped out and shut the door behind him, turning the key in the lock. With his wealth secure, he took a moment to look out the window, not one facing the ocean, but rather, one facing towards the main village.

As he peered out, the Duke could see the telltale signs of his nation's decay. Most houses were now dilapidated, overgrown with foliage and encrusted with dirt. The Duke's own villa was one of the few buildings left that had not degraded since Arendelle's embargo, mostly due to his loyal (fearful) servant staff. Where the people of Weselton were once lively and healthy, their numbers had now dwindled, with many of them reduced to wandering in the streets, starving, searching in vain for scraps of food. The little marketplace, with its small rations, was nowhere near enough to supply everyone.

A kinder man would have felt deep sympathy for the people, but the Duke had no remorse. Why should he care? They were just commoners, mere peasants. He was a _royal_. The only reason he set aside any gold at all for them was so he wouldn't have to put up with a potential uprising. That, and he still needed to keep his staff and guards fed.

It was never good for a slaveholder, if all his slaves died off.

The Duke's elitist musings were interrupted when he heard light tapping coming from the window on the opposite end of the room. He wondered who would need to get his attention with such an unusual method. And then he wondered how it was possible for anyone to be making those noises.

He was on the fifth floor; there wasn't a single ladder in Weselton that reached that high. There were no trees that close to his villa, either. Whatever was on the outside of the window, was certainly not human.

The tapping sounds continued, almost like they were daring the Duke to look back. His blood ran cold. What horrible, gargantuan thing could have possibly been making those noises, hitting against the window with its deformed appendage?

The Duke steeled himself and took a big, deep breath as he quickly turned around, and saw...

A bird.

A damned harmless little bird. A pigeon, hitting its pink foot against the window every few seconds, a small cylindrical container strapped to its chest. Moving across the room, the Duke opened the window, taking the pigeon in one hand and unfastening the container with the other.

Weselton had not received a single letter in months. Who could have possibly been writing to him? Opening the container, he removed the object inside; a tiny letter, rolled up into a scroll. It was bound by a wax seal, and as the Duke looked at it, his eyes narrowed. Embedded into it was the symbol of a crocus, the official crest of Arendelle. He instantly knew who it was that had written the letter. He was disgusted, but at the same time, curiosity filled him. Breaking the seal, the Duke unfurled the letter; the paper was longer than it appeared when it was rolled up. He began to read the neat, cursive writing.

_To His Grace the Duke of Weselton,_

_I am writing this letter to you, out of concern for your citizens. It has come to my attention that you are lacking essential goods, and there are currently zero countries which engage in commerce with Weselton._

_I now realize that it is likely your local economy is in shambles, and your people are starving. I would like to send temporary relief to them, from Arendelle's food surplus._

_In addition, I am willing to renegotiate a trade agreement with you. However, your actions in Arendelle were inexcusable and downright criminal, and so I ask that after the agreement is finalized, you step down from your position and appoint a new official to act as Duke._

_I await your reply, and it is my hope that you will do the right thing, for your nation and for your people._

_Sincerely,_

_Her Majesty Queen Elsa of Arendelle_

The Duke ripped the letter to pieces, then crumpled it all in his hands. He moved to the window to toss it out, and noticed the carrier bird was still there. It must have been told to wait for him to attach his own message to it before flying back to Arendelle. Letting the pieces fall out the open window, he grabbed the pigeon and, before it could react, twisted its head around. It only had time to emit a small _squawk_ before its neck broke.

The Duke wound back and threw the bird's corpse out the window, as far as he could. He was never very strong, and the carcass only traveled about 20 feet, landing somewhere in a patch of grass where it would no doubt be eaten later by a scavenging animal, or maybe even a lucky Weselton citizen who managed to sneak onto the estate without being caught.

Fuming, the Duke stood there for a moment, letting the breeze blow onto his face.

"How dare that icy bitch try and tell me to do _anything_? It's her fault Weselton's economy is like this, not mine," he muttered to himself.

Once more, the Duke looked out to the horizon, at the sea. His newer trading partners had enriched him far more than Arendelle ever had, and he was not about to end that agreement.

The Duke's mind wandered to thoughts of the little secret society he was a member of. Out of all the 12 members, he was the only one to have fully retained his humanity. The rest of them, through their constant dark rituals, had transformed, slowly beginning to resemble the thing from the sea that met with the Duke every so often.

He suddenly started to wonder why he _was_ the only fully-human cultist in the organization. He suspected there was something his Lord was not telling him, something he was not privy to, but he knew better than to press the matter. In due time, he was sure everything would be explained.

The Duke of Weselton shut the window, then walked over to his closet. He opened it, viewing the cloak that hung inside.

Tonight's gathering was going to be _very _important.

* * *

If one had asked the young woman how she thought she would eventually die, she would have given two answers, based on a best-case scenario, and a worst-case.

In the best-case scenario, she would have died at a ripe old age, having had many children and grandchildren, surrounded by her loving family. In the worst-case scenario, her life would be cut short by an illness, or she would perhaps suffer from an accident.

The death that she never expected, though, was being tied to the ground, gagged, and ritualistically slaughtered by an ugly, inhuman thing wearing a robe.

Had there not been a gag masking the sound, the woman's scream would have carried through the whole forest. Instead, she could only make muffled cries of pain and terror as the high priest cut into her chest with the knife. Soon, her sounds were reduced to whimpers, and then, nothing; she had bled to death.

The priest peeled back the layer of skin from his victim's chest, revealing her internal organs. One by one, each cult member came up to the corpse and cut away an organ from the woman's exposed cavity. One disciple took the liver, another took the spleen, another took a kidney, another took a lung; the Duke was the last one up, taking the heart for himself. The cultists arranged themselves in a circle, around their leader.

Digging his razor-like nails into the woman's dead eyes, the high priest tore them from the sockets. He stood up and spread his arms wide, holding an eyeball in each open palm, looking up to the sky.

In unison, they chanted.

"_Yog-Sothoth knows the gate. Yog-Sothoth is the gate. Yog-Sothoth, the Key and the Gate, open the Way._"

The Duke watched as the eyeballs, and his Lord's eyes, lit up. They glowed bright, with every known color flashing through them rapidly, as well as other colors, unsettling ones which did not seem to fit in with the regular spectrum. The Duke could not look at them for too long; it hurt his head to do so.

The high priest shut his eyes and stopped breathing, standing as still as he could. He looked as though he were trying to listen for something.

"I see. I see...all of it. The Way..."

His eyelids opened, and the colors faded from his eyes, along with the ones in his hands.

The Duke had seen this type of ritual done only once before, but he knew what would come next. He didn't want to do it, but he had to.

Collectively, the cult raised the woman's organs to their mouths and began to eat them. Most of them, with their large, mutated mouths, were able to consume their morbid meal with ease. But the Duke had to take his time, carefully biting off pieces of the heart and slowly chewing them, before suppressing his gag reflex and swallowing. He wanted to throw up.

When it was all finished, they raised their arms and recited one last twisted ode.

"_The Old Ones were, the Old Ones are, the Old Ones shall be!_"

Thousands upon thousands of miles away, deep in the Pacific Ocean, something stirred.


	5. Chapter 5

The group of villagers sprinted down the long hallway of the villa, in hot pursuit of their quarry.

"Help! Guards! _GUARDS!_"

The Duke pleaded for assistance as he rounded the corner, an angry mob at his heels. He ran for the double doors at the end of the hall and just managed to get inside and slam them behind him, turning the lock. The townspeople banged loudly against the doors, trying to force them open. As they attempted to break through, the Duke heard the mob's leader speak.

"You're not getting away, you hear me? When we're done breaking these doors down, we're going to flay you alive! _You understand, you little midget bastard?!_"

The Duke knew he meant it, and moved over to a large desk, pushing it with all his strength up against the doors and putting another barrier between himself and the people out for his blood. It didn't do much good; several members of the group had axes with them, and as they hit them against the fine oak doors, the wood began to splinter. Through the holes created by their weapons, the Duke could see the enraged facial expressions of each villager, lit up by the torches they carried.

Within the next minute, the Duke knew that they were going to break down the desk as well, and then he would be done for. Trying to fight them off was useless; he would have had trouble against just one person, but there was at least ten of them out there. He looked around for any means of escape, but he was in his study, and the only door leading out was the one he had came in. The windows were also out of the question; they were all on the third floor.

Just like the doors, the desk was now chopped through and heavily damaged. One villager reached through a hole in the door and turned the bolt. The Duke's heart sank as he heard the door unlock. The villagers poured into the room and cornered him.

"N-n-no, please don't..." the Duke begged the mob leader, holding his hands up as if to shield himself. The only reply he got was a swift kick to the ribs.

The Duke fell to the floor, the wind knocked out of him as he clutched his side. With his fellow villagers behind him, the leader pulled out a big, serrated knife and held it up to the Duke's face.

"We're not going to starve while you play dictator, and we're not going to let you continue to kill us all! Did you think we wouldn't notice our people going missing?!"

The gruff man lowered his voice.

"Now, which would you prefer I cut off of you first? Your eyes, ears, or your tongue? Or maybe that disgusting beak you call a nose?"

"D-don't-"

"Well all right, tongue it is. Just so you can watch me cut it out of you and hear your own screams."

The man pushed down on the Duke's chin, exposing his mouth. But just when the man was about to cut into the pinkish organ within, the loud sounds of shattering glass could be heard as the Duke's two elite bodyguards came in through the windows.

Moses and Elijah both favored the crossbow for a reason; muskets were loud and took far too long to reload, whereas their weapons were quick, silent, efficient.

As they both swung through the windows, they each fired off a bolt at a villager. Their shots found their mark: one arrow penetrated a target's skull, while another pierced a man's heart.

The townspeople were taken aback at the bodyguards' sudden arrival. Before they could even begin to properly react, Moses and Elijah had already unhooked themselves from their rope harnesses and reloaded, firing off two more arrows and removing two more threats to the Duke's life.

"Damn it!" the mob leader said in frustration. "_Kill them both!_"

The group came to their senses, and charged at the bodyguards. Reflexively, Elijah dove behind Moses and began to draw out another bolt from his quiver, as his partner quickly brandished a small knife and threw it at the closest villager. It flew into the woman's forehead, killing her almost instantly. As her body fell to the ground, three other townspeople stumbled over it and tripped, giving both Moses and Elijah less immediate threats to deal with.

Moses ducked and let his partner shoot once more, taking out yet another Weselton citizen, before the four villagers that were still on their feet reached him and brought their weapons down at him.

Moses moved away from the first villager's axe, then dodged two swords and blocked the fourth one's wooden club with his crossbow. Wasting no time, he pushed it aside and punched the man square in the face, knocking him out cold. Elijah set his crossbow on the ground as Moses retreated back towards the windows and began to reload both weapons.

Throughout their years together, the bodyguards had grown used to each others' movements and functioned smoothly in battle, like a well-oiled machine. The villagers would have been amazed at their prowess, were they not fighting for their lives.

With a spinning double kick, Elijah disarmed the two villagers, knocking the swords from their hands. One of the blades flew up in the air, and as Elijah dodged the axe from the remaining armed peasant, he leapt up and caught it. In one fluid movement, he swung around and decapitated the two unarmed townspeople. The axeman brought up his weapon once more, but as he was about to strike downwards, Elijah quickly stabbed into his gut with the sword. The man cried out in intense pain as he fell backward, clutching his stomach.

The three citizens who had tripped over their fallen comrade got to their feet, as Elijah threw the sword at one of them. He wasn't fast enough; the villager dodged it, the blade flying past him and striking the wall harmlessly.

Before the three were about to run at him with their clubs, Moses held up the two loaded crossbows, one in each hand, and fired. Two more citizens fell to the ground, dead, before Elijah charged the third and downed him with two quick punches.

"Elijah!"

He spun around to see Moses toss him back his crossbow. They both quickly loaded another bolt in and pointed their weapons at the only remaining villager.

The leader of the mob, still bent over the Duke with the knife in his hand, looked around incredulously at all his fellow citizens, all of them now either dead or unconscious at the hands of just two men.

"I highly suggest you surrender," said Elijah.

Slowly, the man let go of the Duke and stood up, letting the knife fall from his hand and hit the ground with a dull _thud_. His expression was neutral for a few seconds, but then, a few angry tears made their way to his eyes.

"Bloody hell. Bloody _fuckin'_ hell..."

He took a short breath through his teeth, as he began to cry tears of frustration.

"You stupid _bastards_. Do you know what this man has done to us, to our children, to Weselton? You should be pointing those things at him, not me..."

As the Duke got to his feet, loud footsteps and shouts could be heard out in the hallway.

"There he is, I found him!"

The voice belonged to one of the Duke's regular bodyguards; he was leading a mixed group of other guards and a few servants over to the study. They moved through the ruined double doors, but stopped when they saw the scene that had unfolded.

"Your Grace...what happened here?"

The Duke turned to them.

"Clean this place up, get these bodies out of here. Anyone that's still alive is to be taken down to the dungeon, where they shall be hung at noon, tomorrow."

"What about him?" a guard asked, motioning to the only peasant that was still alive and conscious.

"Throw him in the dungeon too, I have a special plan for him."

"As you wish."

After the orders had been fully carried out, the Duke was left with his two elite guards. While most other men would express gratitude, the Duke was infuriated. He moved over to Elijah and kicked him in the shin as hard as he could.

"What took you two so long?"

Elijah winced slightly at the blow, but the pain quickly subsided.

"We came as quickly as we could, your Grace. We had very short notice-" Moses began.

"They were very nearly going to peel off my skin like a grapefruit! A snail is faster than the two of you!"

"...we beg your utmost pardon, it will not happen again."

Both of them knew it was pointless to argue.

"It had better not! Now get the hell out of here, the both of you!"

The two bodyguards hesitated for a moment, but began to head towards the door. As the Duke dusted himself off, Elijah stopped and turned back to look at him.

"...your Grace?"

"_What?_"

"What that man said...about all those citizens that have disappeared, about those children...is it true?"

The Duke looked up at him, his eyes narrowing.

"Are you actually entertaining such ridiculous thoughts? That man is a traitor to Weselton, and his claims are preposterous, outright slanderous! For you to even think, for a moment, that his ramblings are anything other than the product of a deluded mind, borders on treason."

"But-"

"_Excuse me?_ Are you actually sympathizing with that traitorous fool?"

"I...no."

"If you care about your own well-being, I advise you keep your mouth shut and follow orders. Otherwise, I will ensure you suffer the same fate as what I have in store for the leader of tonight's ill-fated rebellion. Do you both understand?"

"Yes."

"Of course."

Moses grabbed his partner by the shoulder, motioning for him to leave with him. Elijah waited until they were out of the room and well out of earshot, before he spoke.

"...do you ever get the feeling you're on the wrong side?"

As they left the villa, Moses remained silent, staring ahead.

* * *

What citizens of Weselton that still remained were gathered together in a crowd in the middle of the town square, watching as the bodies of the two men twitched and struggled against their nooses. Soon, they stopped moving altogether, their fresh corpses swaying a bit in the slight wind. With the two rebellious citizens from the night before dead, there was only one man left to be taken care of; the leader of the infuriated posse that had stormed the Duke's villa.

The sound of something on wheels being pulled along the cobblestone path could be heard, as the citizens turned and looked to see the mob leader in shackles, flanked by four guards and the Duke of Weselton himself. Behind them, five more guards pulled along a cart loaded with a bull-shaped, metallic statue. Had any of the villagers been educated enough to know about ancient history, they would have recognized it as a brazen bull. Instead, they all looked on with confusion and dread as they wondered what was going to happen next.

They moved aside as the Duke and his men carried their prisoner into the center of them. The Duke peered around at the crowd, taking a moment to survey his subjects with narrowed eyes.

"I can see you are all afraid right now. That is very good," he said sternly.

"Last night, a group of your fellow citizens committed treason against this fine nation, by breaking into my home and attempting to assassinate me. However, the two individuals that you see hanging from those ropes were but mere followers. The man you see before you, is the real organizer of this little rebellion."

The Duke cleared his throat before continuing.

"There is no room for dissent in this land. And you are all about to see just what happens to traitors."

The brazen bull was wheeled into the center of the crowd, a guard opening a small hatch on the side of it. Two more guards shoved their captive inside, but as they were about to shut the hatch on him, he began to shout to the citizens.

"The Duke is a murderer! He's the one who has committed treason against Weselton, not me! He's the one responsible for all those missing people, and it's his fault we have begun to lose our children! I saw him take those innocent babes from their home with my own two eyes! Don't listen to-"

His desperate warnings were cut off when the guards shut the hatch, trapping him inside. Two other guards piled an ample amount of fresh wood directly underneath the brazen bull, while a third came forward with a lit torch. He moved it down to the wood, igniting it.

For the next twenty minutes, all that could be heard was the man's tortured screams of agony as the metal device heated up and he was literally roasted alive. While the villagers looked on in horror, the Duke watched with grim satisfaction.

The torture device was originally designed to convert the screams of the victim into the sounds of a bull, but the Duke left that part out intentionally when he had it built. It was _so _ much more satisfying to hear the sounds of his enemies dying in horrible pain.


	6. Chapter 6

In simpler times, Weselton's shipyard bustled with activity, with many vessels setting sail for neighboring kingdoms while others returned from their journeys with various goods to sell in the marketplace. But ever since the duchy's days of scarcity began, almost no one bothered going down to the docks anymore. They were all too busy either starving to death, or trying to find a way to avoid it.

For the Duke of Weselton, the circumstances suited him just fine. It left him free, for the most part, to go to such areas and do whatever he wished without having to worry about troublesome bystanders witnessing something they weren't supposed to. But even if the citizens had been their formerly prosperous selves, none of them would have wanted to go near the Duke. Not after the previous day's events.

At the moment, though, the Duke wasn't doing anything too illicit. He was simply standing near the end of the pier with a dozen of his guards and a few metal trolleys, watching the merchant ship from the Southern Isles slowly approach. Over the next two minutes, the schooner dropped anchor and was properly moored. Then, the dockers aboard the ship moved a few gangways down onto the pier.

"All right men, get to it."

The guards followed their Duke's command, moving up and down the gangways as they assisted the dockers in unloading the ship's cargo. Once the task was complete, the captain made his way down and over to the Duke, his hand outstretched.

"You know the drill, Dukey boy. Cough it up."

If one of his own subjects had addressed him in that manner, the Duke would have called for their execution. But the weathered old sea merchant knew of Weselton's poverty and desperation, and he also knew that it granted him a fair amount of leverage; he was one of the few left who was still willing to ship goods to the nation.

The Duke dug in his pockets for the two pieces of unique gold, and handed them over to the captain.

"Where's the rest?"

"I...I don't have it."

"Then what's that bulge in your left pocket? Just happy to see me?"

"...there's no more..."

The captain huffed himself up and looked down at the Duke impatiently.

"Don't try and play me for a fool, ya damned dwarf. I know you've got more gold on you. Hell, you've probably got loads of the shiny stuff in that big old house of yours. You don't want to pay up, fine. I can have this stuff put back on the boat right now, and I'll be on my merry way. I hope you enjoy dying of hunger."

The captain turned and began to walk back to his ship, but the Duke stopped him.

"All right fine, you win! Here!"

The Duke tossed two more pieces at the old man's feet.

"Knew you'd see things my way," he chuckled.

He picked the gold up, then continued onto his ship. The Duke and his guards watched as the crew pulled the gangways back up, detached the ropes from the moorings, weighed anchor and finally, set sail.

The Duke groaned with annoyance as his men started moving the boxes of cargo onto the trolleys. As they did so, the Duke took out the last piece of gold he had with him. Bored, he flipped it in the air a few times. On the last flip, he failed to catch it, and it fell onto the dock and rolled in between his feet, traveling slightly behind him.

As the Duke looked away from the sea to pick up his gold, he heard a very large splash coming from out on the water, and a second later, the sounds of men screaming and wood splintering.

He whipped his head back to look at what was happening. Bits of flotsam floated on the water's surface, where the merchant ship could be seen sailing for the horizon just seconds before.

The Duke then looked at his men; they were staring out at sea, their eyes wide with terror.

"What h-"

He couldn't even finish the sentence before the guards all drew out their pistols, put them to their heads, and pulled the triggers. The Duke yelped in fright at the gory results, and despite the warmth of the sun, he felt a sudden chill within him.

Something had _pulled_ that boat down to the ocean floor. Something _big_.  
The Duke looked back down at his piece of gold; he had only narrowly avoided losing his sanity by a well-timed distraction.

What could his men have possibly seen?

* * *

Tonight, there was no victims, no blood, no chanting, no sigils, no bizarre manifestations. There was only the quiet sound of the wind blowing through the forest and the rustling of the tree leaves. Even the birds and insects were silent.

With their hoods thrown over their faces, each disciple stood perfectly still, staring down at the ground, their hands folded within the sleeves of their robes.

The Duke felt as though his legs would give out from under him at any moment. Standing still for the past three hours would do that to any man, but his age didn't help matters. On the inside he was grumbling to himself, but he knew he had no choice but to follow suit with the rest of the congregation.

Despite everything he had seen and witnessed as a faithful member of the Esoteric Order of Dagon, the Duke found tonight to be the most unsettling thing ever. He wanted them to sing a weird hymn, to cut something up, to do anything other than stand there and look at the ground. Something was very off, and the Duke felt like this was the calm before the storm.

If he knew what was really in store for him, he would be feeling more than just fear. And if he knew what was in store for his citizens, he may have even felt sympathy for once in his life.


	7. Chapter 7

The Duke of Weselton stepped out of the carriage, carrying yet another sacrifice over his shoulder. This time it was one of Weselton's royal guards, just a young man in his twenties. He was chosen out of simple convenience; the guards were much closer to the Duke and he was starting to run a bit low on peasants.

As he began to make the relatively short trip down to the shoreline, the carriage driver did something he had never done previously: he called out to the Duke.

"I'm not doing this anymore."

The Duke stopped in his tracks, not sure if he had just heard what he thought he heard. He turned back to look at the carriage.

"What?"

"I'm not going to play along any longer."

Embers of anger started to flicker within the Duke. He let go of the unconscious guard. The man fell to the sand as the Duke marched back up to where the driver sat.

"_What_ did you say?"

"You heard me the first time! I'm not continuing to be a party to whatever sick things you're doing down here!"

The Duke was furious. He jumped up into the seat and grabbed the driver by the collar of his shirt.

"Listen here! I am your Duke and I comma-"

"You're not a Duke, you're a _psychopath_!"

The driver shoved him off of the seat. The Duke fell and landed face-first on the ground. The beach's sand cushioned the impact, but it did nothing to prevent his ego from being bruised. He rose back to his feet, spitting sand from his mouth.

"How dare you! Disobeying me is treason and-"

"I really don't give a damn anymore about following your orders, _your Grace_. And once I go back into town and tell the people exactly what you've been up to here, neither will they."

"You can't just-"

"I can, and I will. Now piss off, you midget freak."

The driver picked up the reins and gave them a snap, giving the command to his horse to start carrying the both of them back to town.

"I'll have your head for this, do you hear me?! I'll have your damned head!"

If the driver was still close enough to hear the Duke's threats, he didn't seem to care; he made no effort to stop the carriage.

The Duke turned back to the man he had left lying on the ground and bent down to grab one of his arms, swearing under his breath all the while. Then, he started dragging him across the sand, down to the sea.

Once he was done here, he was going to deal with that insubordinate driver of his.

The Duke heard the familiar splash of water as the humanoid fish came up from under the waves. When he saw it, he gestured to the body he still grasped.

"Here, I have another one for you. Just give me my gold, I'm in a bit of a hurry tonight."

"_Don't need it._"

"You don't...need it? What does that mean?"

"_No more. Done with you._"

"What?! We had an agreement! I give you victims, you give me gold! That's how it works, and that's how it's going to stay!"

The Duke grunted as he picked up the man in his arms and shoved him at the thing.

"Here, take it! Now give me what's rightfully mine!"

The fish-man took the unconscious guard in one hand, and with the other, casually snapped his neck and tossed him aside like he weighed nothing.

"_No more gold for you. Done._"

It started to walk closer to the Duke, its long claws silhouetted against the moonlight. He was always nervous around the creature, but now that it was actually approaching him, he started backing away in apprehension. But as he did, he bumped into something behind him.

He turned around, and his heart skipped a beat as he saw the eleven familiar cloaked figures, just visible in the surrounding darkness.

What were _they _doing here?

"Hello, Allen. You are just in time for the final ceremony."

The high priest's voice was somehow even deeper and harsher than it had been before.

"Final...final ceremony? What's going on here?"

The cultists removed their robes, revealing their forms underneath. Any traces of humanity that they had were completely gone, and they now fully resembled the thing from the ocean that was still advancing on the Duke.

"Don't feel so bad, Allen. You have been an invaluable servant, and our vision would not have been possible without you. But I'm afraid you have outlived your usefulness."

The Duke's eyes were wide with fright. In desperation, he ran forward and managed to push past the group, then sprinted as fast as the soft, grainy beach would allow.

Any dreams of escape were quickly snuffed out as he felt a large hand seize him by his ankle, tripping him.

"_NO! PLEASE! DEAR GOD, SOMEBODY HELP ME!_"

But his pleas for mercy went unheard. There was no one else around, just the Duke and the aquatic horrors that surrounded him.

A cultist dragged the Duke back over to the shore as the high priest bowed to the creature, now his brethren.

"Our last offering to you, O Deep Ones. We shed frailty and ignorance, and join you in strength and enlightenment."

The Duke of Weselton's screams echoed over the water as the Deep Ones feasted on him.

If he had somehow lived through it, he would have seen hundreds more of them emerge from the water and head towards the town.

* * *

Weselton had become one large bloodbath.

No one in the duchy had ever seen anything like it: fish-people, sprinting with inhuman speed through the streets of Weselton, chasing down their human prey and slaughtering them on the spot with grim efficiency. By the time Weselton's small military had discovered what was going on and had properly assembled, many citizens were already dead and they soon found themselves overwhelmed by sheer numbers.

With most of the men under their command dead and their ammunition long since expended, Moses and Elijah raced through the streets of Weselton, Deep Ones at their heels. In spite of all their skill, they had never trained for something quite like this. They were both woefully unprepared.

After a few minutes, they both saw their destination at the top of the large hill: the Duke's villa, a place for them to fortify and hide out. If they could just make it there, they would have a chance.

Moses heard his partner cry out from behind him. He spun around to see Deep Ones had seized Elijah.

"No!"

"Just...go!" Elijah shouted back.

Reluctantly, Moses turned away and continued up the hill, leaving his partner to die.

As dozens of Deep Ones raced past him, Elijah struggled against the one that held its scaly hands around his neck. He may have been able to break free if three more hadn't come to help, holding him down as his throat was torn out. As the blood poured from the gaping wound in his neck, Elijah's body spasmed in pain and, soon enough, his vision went black.

Moses was only about thirty feet away from the Duke's villa when he saw the large front doors fly open, and Deep Ones run out covered in the blood of the servants.

There was nowhere left for him to run now; he was surrounded on all sides. In desperation, Moses reached to his side for the last weapon he had left: his combat knife.

"Come on, you fish bastards! _Come on_!"

Eight Deep Ones rushed at him. Moses wasn't able to kill even one of them. His knife was swiped aside, skittering across the ground uselessly before they forced him down to the hard ground.

Right before the Deep Ones were about to pull him apart, they stopped and looked back to the ocean. Something large had come out of the water and was heading in their direction, shaking the ground with every loud footstep.

As it moved past the trees, Moses saw that it was a gargantuan version of the Deep Ones; over a hundred feet tall with a dark, sickly purple hue to its skin. It approached its smaller brethren, and they moved aside.

The huge thing looked down at Moses with its cold eyes, viewing him as a human might regard an insect. Then, it slowly raised a massive, webbed foot.

Moses resigned himself to his fate. He shut his eyes and thought of that day he had spent with his late wife in Corona, almost twenty years before. That was the vision he wanted to have in his head, before he died.

The creature stomped its foot down on him.

* * *

Never hearing back from the Duke of Weselton, Queen Elsa of Arendelle decided to send an ambassador vessel to its shores in hopes of getting in touch with him. But when they came back from their trip, Elsa was confused at what her ambassador had to tell her.

Where the duchy had once stood, there was now nothing but a large stretch of water. It had inexplicably vanished.

The tiny island nation of Weselton was no more.


End file.
